


Submitted For Your Approval

by tartary_lamb



Category: The Muppets - All Media Types, Twilight Zone
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartary_lamb/pseuds/tartary_lamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A freak accident turns Gonzo’s latest stunt into a one-way ticket into the unknown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Submitted For Your Approval

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AstroGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/gifts).



> I like to think that this story is as scientifically and geographically accurate as an episode of The Muppets or The Twilight Zone. I am aware this threshold is spectacularly low.

“Gonzo,” a crackling voice repeated into the headset. “We have you live in thirty seconds.” There was a burst of static. “Gonzo, can you hear me?”

Gonzo gave the headset a hard shake. Unfortunately, he was still wearing it. “Assuming you’re talking in garbled static noises,” he said, a little woozy. “I can hear you loud and clear.”

“We’re go for interview,” the voice said. “Gonzo, look into the light.”

In preparation for the stunt, a small, unassuming television camera had been mounted into the cockpit of the spacecraft. Its red power light had flickered to life and Gonzo watched it glow distrustfully. He was a daredevil by trade and the key to being a successful daredevil — or an alive one, anyway — was staying as far away from “The Light” as possible.

When the Newsman broke in from commercial, Gonzo the Great was facing the wrong way.

“This is a Muppet Newsflash.” The Newsman was hunched, buried in his notes. “The Great Gonzo, performance artist and stuntman, is preparing to become the first muppet to free-fall from the edge of space. We now join him live aboard his spacecraft, where he readies for the record-breaking jump.”

He discreetly cleared his throat, having apparently noted Gonzo’s predicament on the in-studio monitors. The craft’s cabin was a tight fit and Gonzo, already wearing his bulky spacesuit, had managed to wedge himself into the flight controls as part of an aborted effort to turn round.

“What?” Gonzo asked. “Oh, right.” He wrenched an arm free to give the camera a friendly wave, knocking a large, important-looking red lever in the process.

Around him, the spaceship’s trajectory shifted alarmingly.

The Newsman watched Gonzo over his thick tortoise-shell glasses, occasionally casting a wary glance at the ceiling. Gonzo was scheduled to land outside Los Alamos in New Mexico, but they’d reinforced the Muppet Studios’ roof all the same. “Mr. Gonzo,” he continued, “I understand that a human accomplished this feat some months ago.”

“That’s true,” Gonzo said, as he finally twisted himself in front of the camera, “but he had one thing I won’t.”

The Newsman watched as Gonzo reached up, securing his round, silver space helmet in place with a snap. He leaned forward, curious. “And what’s that?”

The hatch swung open. Below, the earth was waiting and — online, anyway, and via a handful of local stations across the Midwest — the world was watching. It was time.

Gonzo waved to the camera before, at last, stepping out into the void. “A parachute.”

*

_Witness Gonzo the Great, a slight blue figure who tumbles to earth in a search for meaning. For the strange little muppet, set apart from his peers both by his odd appearance and unknown heritage, the fall is a defining act; to be Gonzo is to be unique, his every act of dangerous, artistic exuberance honed to reflect his own absolute individuality._

_But now, the fateful shift of a lever, the simple turn of a cog, has conspired to send him on another journey, plummeting headfirst into… the Twilight Zone._

“Really?” Gonzo said. He wrenched off his space helmet, craning his neck for a better look at his new companion — a handsome, dark-haired man with thick eyebrows and a creased tan suit. The man was well-dressed, but falling to earth at around 120 miles an hour the overall look was anything but dignified. His thin black tie flapped in his face like a flag. “Because I’m supposed to be landing in New Mexico.”

The man eyed Gonzo uncomfortably, seemingly unaware that his little monologue had been overheard.

 _The Twilight Zone_ , he said, _is a land of imagination that exists outside your narrow understanding of reality._

The man paused to allow the weight of what he was saying to sink in. When nothing resembling awe or even mild astonishment registered, he continued, a little deflated.

_But in your case, yes, it resembles New Mexico._

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Gonzo said. “Camilla and the girls were planning to take me out after the jump. I’d hate to think they couldn’t find me.”

_Oh, they’ll find you — but will you find them? Nothing is certain in…_

“The Twilight Zone,” Gonzo finished. “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

There was another pause — this time of the longer, unmistakably awkward character common to uncomfortable social situations. Made sense, Gonzo thought. It was hard to imagine anything less comfortable than trying to hold a conversation while free-falling from space. 

Particularly when he'd removed his helmet. In hindsight, maybe not the greatest idea he’d ever had.

“Hey,” Gonzo said. “Did you want to come?”

The man was watching the earth speed toward them with a wariness born of understanding — specifically, an understanding of how gravity worked. He looked over at Gonzo, dark eyebrows raised.

“To lunch,” Gonzo elaborated. “With Camilla and the girls. There’s this great diner out by the airport — serves an all-day breakfast that’s out of this world.”

_By “out of this world,” could you possibly mean…_

“The Twilight Zone?” Gonzo said. “No, I don’t think so.” Though, in hindsight, he’d never thought to ask. He’d have to get on that, next time he was there. “They’re pretty good, though.”

 _The invitation is gracious,_ the man conceded, _but, sadly, I’m just the narrator. This strange journey is one you must traverse alone._

“That makes sense, I guess.” Gonzo looked down at the earth, a gorgeous dappling of scrub-covered sandy browns with which he’d become well-acquainted shortly, and considered his options. Up here, those were few, but while he was never one to look down his nose at the strange or unexpected (heck, his nose _was_ strange and unexpected), there was something about the situation that gave him pause.

Not the falling man, who actually seemed quite charming. No, it was something else. Possibly the fact ‘Twilight Zone’ made him think of a themed bowling alley and arcade. 

“But I’ve never been to the Twilight Zone before,” Gonzo said, finally. “What’s it like?”

The man shifted uncomfortably, an accomplishment at the speed they were traveling. _I am unable to comment on your specific circumstances, you understand._

“That’s okay,” Gonzo said. “But do you have any suggestions?”

_Be careful what you wish for. The friendly couple that just moved in next door are robots from another dimension and the destruction of all mankind in a hazy cloud of nuclear fallout is undoubtedly imminent._

“Robots. Nuclear armageddon. Okay.” Gonzo found himself wishing he’d brought a pen and paper to take notes. “Anything else?”

The man’s dark eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully.

_Some aliens, moved by benevolent intent, seek only to cure disease and bring peace on earth, while others would enslave mankind as one would cattle raised for slaughter. Other aliens are simply in exile on Earth, hoping to avoid detection by yet more aliens as a result of some kind of intergalactic power struggle._

“Right,” Gonzo said, with a nod.

 _You never really know where you stand with aliens, to be honest._ He gave Gonzo a once over. _No offense intended._

“None taken,” Gonzo said. “Is that everything?”

_Be nice to strangers, or there is a not insignificant risk they will murder you with their incredible mind powers._

“Okay, okay,” Gonzo said. “I think I get the idea. Thanks, though.”

 _It has been my genuine pleasure._ He sounded sincere, even as he pulled his tie from his face for the umpteenth time. _But the ticking clock is a cruel mistress. I should be on my way._

Gonzo nodded. “Say hello to your clock for me.”

_Goodbye, Mr. Gonzo, and good luck._

And with that, the man was gone — a fleeting burst of television static against the vast emptiness of the earth’s upper atmosphere.

Gonzo consulted the watch that had, in a striking example of Muppet Labs ingenuity, been strapped to the outside of his spacesuit. Seven more minutes of free-fall to go.

He looked down at the earth, brown and beautiful and considerably closer than when he started, and wished he’d brought a book or something.

*

He’d been looking to make his mark on the world and now he had; for better or worse, there was now a Gonzo-shaped crater punched into the dry crust of the New Mexico desert.

Maybe more literal than he’d intended — he was an _artiste_ , after all — but… better than nothing.

Gonzo tried to scrape himself off the cracked, dry ground. In his experience, this is the part where people said things like ‘Ow’ and ‘Oh god, my abdomen.’ Gonzo’s brain considered its options before finally settling on, “I think I landed on a cactus.”

“That was incredible,” said a voice, a mile-a-minute burst of New York attitude punctuated by a rush of snapping camera shutters. “One for the record books! One for the ages!” There was a moment’s hesitation. “Can you do it again? The lens got stuck and I, uh, kind of missed the landing.”

Gonzo cracked an eye open warily. Dark shapes were circling overhead, but what was performance art without a couple of buzzards, anyway?

“Sorry, Rizzo,” he said, pushing himself upright. Even if the rest of his body worked, it was becoming obvious his eyes still didn’t. The world remained stubbornly out of focus, a dusty brown smear dotted with the occasional blob of colour. “My stunts are a one-time-only deal.”

Somewhere in the back of his brain, neurons fired. Something he was seeing just wasn’t quite right.

Maybe it was the fact that Rizzo’s blob was an unusual shade of blue.

“Why’s that?” asked the rat.

“Artistic integrity,” Gonzo answered, frowning at the blob in confusion. “Also, insurance premiums.”

It took a minute, but the world eventually came swimming into focus. Rizzo, as it turned out, was looking unusually dapper — taller than normal, which was an accomplishment in its own right, and well-dressed in a white button-down, argyle grey sweater-vest and dark polka dot tie. His fur was an unusual but attractive dark blue and his long, hooked nose and thin, feathery wisps of hair gave him, in Gonzo’s opinion, an air of distinguished refinement.

“Wait a minute,” Gonzo said. “You look like me!”

Rizzo — or, well, ‘Rizzo’ — looked at him in surprise. “You look like a rat who’s been badly sunburned?”

“No,” Gonzo said, balking. “I must have hit my head harder than I thought. I’m seeing double.”

“Of what?”

Gonzo rubbed the growing lump on the back of his head gingerly. He _really_ should have kept the helmet. “Of me.”

‘Rizzo’ had returned his attention to the camera now slung around his neck. He fiddled with the settings, occasionally grimacing at his handiwork, but glanced up long enough to feign concern. “Hey, I’m not a doctor or nothin’, but I don’t think that’s how ‘seeing double’ works.”

There was a loud honk. Gonzo turned; there was a dust-covered rental bus idling behind them, tucked beside some scrub a few yards away. A lone figure — same blue fur, same hooked nose, same natty attire — leaned out of the driver’s side window, an ill-fitting cowboy hat shoved onto his head. “Hey, Rizzo,” the other Gonzo called out. “Hurry on up, won’t ya? It’s hot in here.”

“Yeah, yeah, hold on a sec,” ‘Rizzo’ yelled back. “Hey, guys — look at me! I’m Gonzo!” He’d jumped into the crater and was now holding the camera at arms length, mugging furiously. “Oh yeah,” he said, more to himself than anything as he lay in the dust, pretending to be dead. “This one’s going on Facebook.”

Back aboard the bus, trouble was brewing. The door burst open and a hefty, unmistakably female Gonzo stormed out, her hair perfectly coiffed and her hands thrust angrily at her sides. She marched toward them with all the determination and deadly force of an advancing army. 

He couldn’t help but notice that, though she wore the same clothes as everyone else, on her they looked fabulous.

Gonzo held up his hands in what he hoped was the universal sign of surrender. “Ms. Piggy?” he ventured carefully.

“Gonzo,” she purred, all sweetness and light, “you know we’re all here to support you in your desire to throw yourself off of things, but,” her voice dropping to a growl of barely sublimated fury, “the air conditioning is broken and I have an important appointment in town.”

There was a bray of what Gonzo was sure was going to be deeply unfortunate laughter from the back of the bus. “Yeah,” someone yelled. “She’s been sweating like a pig!”

‘Piggy’ spun on her heels. For a herbivore, she had the roar of a lion. “Who said that?!”

“Oh wait,” Gonzo said, as she strode back to the bus with all the fire and fury one would expect of an advancing angel of vengeance. “This is that whole ‘Twilight Zone’ thing, isn’t it?”

There was silence from the cosmos. Somewhere nearby, a fly buzzed and Gonzo, disheartened, noted it was both blue and wearing a tiny vest. “Mr. Narrator?” he said, trying again. “Are you still there?”

 _Generally, I don’t come back until around halfway through the story,_ a disembodied voice said. _Usually around the commercial break._

“It’s just…” Gonzo watched as the remaining muppets spilled from the bus, all less than eager to experience Piggy’s wrath in confined quarters. It probably should have been encouraging, to see so many faces that looked like his after so many years alone, but as it stood it was all kind of… weird.

And not in a good way.

He shuddered to think what had happened to Camilla. “It’s just,” Gonzo began, “in your earlier overview — which was very helpful, so thanks for that — you never mentioned how people get back where they belong.”

 _They don’t,_ the voice said. _There are exceptions — genies to beg, mysterious potion vendors to bribe — but in my experience that never ends as you’d expect. Unless you’re expecting Satan in disguise, in which case peoples’ luck with that sort of thing is fairly consistent._

‘Rizzo’ — the one with the camera was Rizzo, right? — had wandered over from the crater and was eyeing Gonzo and his invisible friend with caution. “Uh, who are you talking to?”

“But I can’t live like this!” Gonzo exclaimed, seemingly to the air. “Look, I get this is all supposed to play into the confusing identity narrative from the beginning—“

 _Hey,_ the voice said. _I put a lot of work into drafting that. All this might not seem important to you, but I take my duties very seriously._

“— but there are practical reasons this just can’t work. I’ll admit it has its advantages. Watching soap operas would be hilarious and I could finally live my dream of becoming a presidential body-double. But the costs are just too great. I mean,” he said, softly, “what about my friends?”

_You could fashion them name tags._

“Really?” Gonzo said, skeptically.

_Don’t use that tone with me, young man. I’m only trying to help._

“I know, I’m sorry.” Gonzo slumped back down onto the ground, looking mournfully back at the impact crater. Back toward the bus, ‘Rizzo’ had joined the others and was chattering animatedly — something about a ‘psychotic break’. “It’s just, I don’t know what to do.”

 _Kid, it’s not that I’m not sympathetic. Look, you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone, right?_ the voice said. _Well, what if I told you this isn’t the only Twilight Zone there is? Land of imagination, remember?_

“Yeah,” Gonzo said as a glimmer of hope edged into his voice. “I remember.”

_Let’s say you and me go find a dimension you like better. How’s that sound?_

“Really?” Gonzo leapt to his feet. “Oh wow, thanks. Thank you so much, Mr…”

 _Serling will do nicely. Now, I warn you,_ the voice said, _the Twilight Zone features sights both horrible and wondrous. I can’t guarantee you’ll like what we find._

Gonzo shrugged lightly. “I’m easy.”

And with that, Gonzo the Great blinked out of sight.

*

Stretched out before them were the smouldering remains of a city, laid waste by some terrible catastrophe in its very recent past. The man in the suit, Mr. Serling by introduction, had returned to Gonzo’s side. 

He surveyed the ruins with ageless eyes.

“What happened here?” Gonzo asked. What was left of a bombed-out newsstand stood some yards away; sheets of newsprint blew like tumbleweed in the breeze. He snatched one from the air — the front page, conveniently — and started to read. 

“ _’Crazy Harry’ Infiltrates U.S. Nuke Reserves,_ ” the headline read. “ _Terrified Nation Waits For Death._ ” Gonzo crumpled the newspaper and tossed it aside. “Yeah, I can see that ending badly.”

Mr. Serling set a hand on Gonzo’s small shoulder, holding him still as a lone figure emerged from the remains of a nearby bank. Dusty and coughing, the muppet staggered down the stairs toward the street.

_Consider Scooter, the sallow-skinned former stage manager of the Muppet Theatre, now huddled in the steaming wreckage of a bombed-out world. The sole survivor of an apocalyptic event, the young muppet struggles to find—_

“Scooter!” Gonzo interrupted, shouting happily. “Scooter, hey! How’re you doing, buddy?”

 _He can’t hear you, at least not yet,_ Serling chided gently. _Until you decide to stay, this is his story, not yours._

“I guess that’s fair,” Gonzo admitted.

“I can’t believe…” Scooter assessed the devastation in awe. The destruction was more or less complete; apart from the local public library, which seemed entirely untouched, not a structure — or anything else, for that matter — seemed to have survived the blast. “I can’t believe everything’s gone.”

He stood for a moment on those steps, contemplating what was truly the end of civilization. After a minute, apparently bored, he fished the phone out of his pocket. The screen’s glow was warm and friendly — even comforting. “At least I still have my Android.”

“Sure, it’s going to be lonely, as the last guy on earth,” he said, taking one stair, then two. As he picked his way through the rubble, he had a definite spring in his step. “But think of all the browsing I can finally do!”

Scooter stopped again, having found a debris-free patch large enough for him to comfortably sit down. He settled onto the steps with a contented sigh. “Wikipedia, Reddit…” he continued. “I mean, I’ve got all of TV Tropes to trawl through!”

But the adrenaline from surviving the blast had left his fingers trembling and, in one horrible moment, the phone flew from his hands. Scooter watched in horror as the handset hit the concrete steps with a sickening crack, lodging itself into the debris below.

“That’s not fair. That’s not fair at all,” he whimpered, his voice choked. “There was time now. That’s not fair!”

He scrambled after it, hurling aside broken chunks of stone and concrete with the desperation of a first responder at an earthquake site. When he finally found the phone, he lifted it free with the utmost tenderness and care. He inspected it; one part miracle, two parts military-grade cellphone case, the handset was unharmed.

“Oh, thank goodness. It’s fine, everyone!” he exclaimed. “It’s fine!”

It took him a moment to remember everyone was dead.

“Oh, right,” he said sheepishly.

Scooter stroked the handset lovingly. They’d be together forever, or at least until the battery ran out. Still, there was something about the phone’s cheery little screen that troubled him. Something he was missing. Something important.

He gave the handset a shake, his voice at last starting to break. “What do you mean, no bars?!”

“And it’s out of warranty, too,” Gonzo said, wincing in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Mr. Serling, but can we keep looking?” Scooter was cradling the handset like an infant, weeping gently. “I can’t watch him like this. He loves that thing.”

_As you wish._

*

It was 1976 and the Muppet Studios was swinging. The lights were up, the cameras were rolling, and from the flop sweat on Fozzie’s brow his spontaneous collaboration with Kermit wasn’t paying off the way that he’d intended. 

“Hey, hey, folks!” he said, launching back into the joke. “This is a story you guys’d love to hear!”

“Good grief!” Kermit jumped in, thinking he’d heard his cue. “The comedian’s a bear!”

_But Kermit could not have known that his ursine companion was, in fact, something else entirely. Merely a puppet, fashioned of felt and thread, compelled to act by unseen hands. His very existence defined by a—_

“Wait, so in this reality Fozzie’s a puppet and nobody’s noticed?” They had materialized backstage; rather than risk interrupting filming, Gonzo had parked himself in front of one of the live television feeds. He gave Serling a weird look. “Look, land of imagination and everything, I get that, but be honest — isn’t this a little far-fetched?”

Serling beckoned him over, holding aside the curtain to the stage. _Just look._

“I don’t think that’s a good…“ Gonzo trailed off. While the feeds had showed Fozzie’s act building to its unsurprisingly disastrous climax, just as Gonzo remembered, the live performance revealed two men contorted to remain safely out of frame. Kermit and Fozzie moved to their every whim; every gesture, every expression was the result of human hands.

Human hands in places Gonzo didn’t much like to consider.

“I was right,” he said, after a moment. “That wasn’t a good idea. That’s terrifying. Does this mean I’m a puppet, too?”

_In this strange reality, yes._

“Okay,” Gonzo said, considering this. A couple of stagehands walked past, disused puppets slung over their arms like war trophies. He'd never be able to look at Rowlf the same way again. “Can we go? All these humans are giving me the creeps. No offense.”

_None taken._

*

“Look into the light,” a voice sputtered as the camera’s red light finally came alive.

The spacecraft was exactly as Gonzo remembered, apart from the tall, dark-haired man that had been uncomfortably shoe-horned into it. He looked around, aghast. “But I’ve done this already. If I jump, won’t it just be _Livin’ La Vida Gonzo_ all over again?”

When Serling spoke, it was between gritted teeth — probably because of the large, red lever jabbing painfully into his side. _No, in fact this world as close to your own as I can muster, except in one shocking respect._

“And what’s that?”

_In the mid-1940s, a series of bizarre experiments led to the rise of a subterranean race known as the Mole People. In recent years, they have reclaimed their rightful hold over the surface world and now dominate the ruling classes, relegating human and muppet alike to the status of second-class citizens._

“But my girlfriend’s still a chicken, right?” Gonzo said, a little optimistic.

Serling’s expression was carefully non-judgmental. _Yes. Yes, she is._

Gonzo secured his space helmet and unfastened the hatch, staring out at the world below. “Close enough.”

He jumped.

Serling straightened out as best he could, rubbing at the murderous crick in his neck. _A strange young traveller, far from home, finds at last a place to belong, another happy resident of… the Twilight Zone._

_Probably should have waited for the drop zone, though. I’m pretty sure that was the ocean._

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't seen it, by the way, this is the funniest Muppet Show sketch I've ever seen: [Good Grief! The Comedian's a Bear!](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH2coWVi9Vg)
> 
> And if you're scratching your head over Scooter's section, the _Twilight Zone_ episode [Time Enough At Last](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8lF4TS-BgQ) is available on YouTube. It's fantastic.


End file.
